Damaged
by TigerButterflied
Summary: AU an alternative ending to Fannysmackin' begun before the episode aired. Greg managed to survive a vicious beating, but now he's forever damaged. Minor impled GSR and a tinge of Sandles and Sandles angst, but this ain't no fluffy romance.
1. Chapter 1

Damaged

I need to preface this one with a warning. This is my rather dark take on one way Fannysmackin' could end. It is harsh, painful, and unpleasant. You're probably going to hate it, but for some unknown reason I had to write it. Probably the OCD acting up again.

I haven't forgotten about my other stories in process. Got major writer's block going on. I hate it!

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His own mother wouldn't have recognized him, not all swollen and covered in dirt, bits of garbage, and thick, clotted blood, his clothes cut from his broken body and deposited in neat brown grocery bags for processing. Gil Grissom watched with feigned impassiveness as the boy - man, he corrected himself, though a part of him would always think "boy" when faced with Greg Sanders - succumbed to the merciful morphine slumber the nurse had injected into the IV. "What are his injuries?" he asked quietly.

The doctor sighed. "Quite a few ribs are broken, and both lungs are punctured. He has a simple fracture to his left arm and his left leg is a mess - multiple compound fractures of the tibia and fibula, and the leg is flattened from where the car tire passed over it. Nearly everything from mid-calf to below his ankle is severely damaged. It's cold to the touch and numb, and the angiogram shows zero blood flow. I'm going to try to rebuild it if I can, but I imagine we'll be doing an amputation. Doesn't look to be a lot for us to work with. Broken jaw and facial lacerations. He's stable since we put in the chest tubes, but we're worried about infection because he WAS found in a pile of garbage. We'll be taking him to surgery shortly. The face, arm and ribs should heal up very nicely, but I will be amazed if that leg is salvageable. He said they used a crowbar on him, hit him over and over with it, then drove over the leg with a car as they pulled away. Wanted to make damn sure he didn't follow them, I guess. Damn shame."

Grissom's jaw tightened. "Have you called his family?"

The doctor cleared his throat and looked away. "At his request we left that to you. You were actually listed as his next of kin. You're his supervisor?"

Grissom nodded tightly.

"Well, if you want you can speak to him for a moment before we take him back. When he's done they'll take him to the ICU. You can wait for him in the ICU lounge if you like."

Grissom nodded tightly and fished out his cell phone. They were all in for a long, awful night.

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Three hours later, the haggard, tight-lipped expression of the surgeon told the outcome even before he opened his mouth. "He's awake and leaving recovery. Should be in ICU in a few minutes." he said softly. "Arm and jaw are fixed and should heal nicely. The leg was another matter. We, ah, we were able to do the amputation low enough he should do very well with a prosthetic. He's young." He looked from Grissom to the others. "We did our best, but the damage was irrepairable. I'm sorry the news isn't better. At any rate, he's awake and leaving recovery. Should be in ICU in a few minutes."

Warrick Brown walked to the window and looked out. "DAMN it! Why the HELL did he have to get in the middle of it? Why?"

"Would either one of us have left those people to die? We would have done the same thing, Warrick, the same thing."

"Yeah, but we carry guns."

"I carried a gun the night Walter Gordon got me. Don't blame Greg for this. It took more than one person to do what got done to Greg and those other people. If it had been one of us the others might be standing around at the morgue rather than hanging out here. Greg's still alive, Warrick, and he needs us."

Warrick sighed. "Yeah, he's alive, but what kind of life is he going to have?"

"Whatever kind of life he makes for himself, Warrick. Remember that."

Warrick dropped his head in embarassment.

Grissom looked around the room - Nick, Warrick, Catherine, Sara, Brass, Archie, Jacqui, Sophia, both Davids. And sitting by the door, the man whose smooth, calm answer had caught everyone's attention, Dr. Al Robbins.

"They just wheeled him into ICU. I'll go in first." Catherine stepped forward and looked around. "If everybody's okay with that."

"That's fine, Cath. I'll need to go next, though." Grissom sighed. "His family won't be coming. I'm sure he knows that, but it might help him to speak to his grandfather on the phone."

"Greg almost died here. Why the hell aren't they coming?"

"His grandfather is his only living relative. He's living in an assisted living center." Grissom's voice was quiet. "At his request I will be spending the rest of the morning trying to find him a spot in one here in Vegas. Greg's going to need him."

"He's going to need all of us, Grissom." Sophia spoke softly, her eyes on Brass as she spoke. "This is going to be the hardest thing he's ever had to deal with."

"True. And he's going to need for ALL of us to remember that he's still Greg, still a whole man in spite of the changes to his body." Robbins glanced pointedly at Warrick. "Anyone who can't manage that needs to stay away until they can."

"Um, Griss, I was wondering something." Nick's voice was hesitant. "Can he still, can he still be a CSI now?"

"I'm not sure. There's no firm rule regarding this sort of situation. It won't be my call." He sighed heavily. "If he has to go back to DNA, I'll see to it he'll return at the pay scale he was on when he left. That may be the best I can give him."

"But Griss, it's not fair. He was injured on the job. He was saving someone's life..."

"Life's not fair, Nick. Life's not fair at all."

"Fair or unfair, he might not be physically able to do the job any more." Warrick glanced almost apologetically at Dr. Robbins. "All due respect, Doc, but this is a pretty physical job. A CSI's got to be able to climb into small spaces, go up and down ladders, wade in the sewers. If he can't do what the position entails, he can't do it."

"Whether or not that will be the case is something no one can predict. He won't know himself for many, many months." Grissom shook his head. "I want Greg back - but only if he can do the job, and do it safely."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two here for you. No idea how long this is going to be. 

My first awareness when I woke up was that my side and my left foot both hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. I looked down, and the smoothness of covers over mattress where the bottom part of my left leg should have been told me everything I never wanted to know. It was a terrifying sight, totally unexpected, one that literally shocked the breath from my lungs.

They had ruined me. My hopes, dreams, my whole future; those bastards has taken it all. Oh, I was still alive alright, but all the joy was now bleached out of my existance because now I could never again go surfing, or rock climb, or go to the clubs and not leave alone. I wasn't going to make CSI 2, or get married, or hold my firstborn in my arms, because now I was damaged, now I was handicapped, no longer even a contender in the competitive Vegas dating game. I hadn't done all that well before, and that was when I was whole.

Tears ran hot and bitter down my cheeks. "Who would want me now?" I whispered softly.

"Only someone truly worth having." Catherine's hand brushed across my cheek, smearing the tears over toward my neck. She leaned down and kissed my cheek. "We're all here for you, Greg. We're all here."

"Sara..." A wave of horror spread through me. "Sara..."

"She's just out there. I'll go get her."

"NO!" I grabbed her hand and clutched it in both of mine. "You can't... I don't want her to see me like this."

"Greg, she knows..."

"I know, that doesn't matter, she can't, you can't let her. Please, Catherine, please. Just... just don't."

She didn't answer, just leaned in to me and stroked my hair with one hand as I slowly relaxed my death grip on her other arm. "It's okay, Greg," she said softly, her own voice quavering, and I realized with a shock that she was crying, Catherine who was hard and brave, Catherine who defended others but never, ever showed weakness, Catherine was crying. "Don't be afraid. The people who cared about you still do. Your outside's a little different, but you're still our Greggo. You're still you."

"My turn." Grissom's even baritone was close, his thick-fingered square hand resting on Catherine's shoulder. "You can see him again in a few minutes. The head nurse is going to waive the visiting limits for us. Brass played the cop card."

Catherine kissed my cheek, and I smiled as I thought of the rosy lipstick mark she probably had left behind. "Later," she said softly, and whooshed out.

"So." Grissom cleared his throat. "How are you doing?" His voice was kind.

"What's left of me is okay, I guess." I looked away from him. "My side hurts. So does, you know..."

He stepped away and returned a few moments later. "She's getting you something for pain," he said quietly.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." A pained expression passed over Grissom's face, the look of a man who had no idea what to say. He had words, he was proficient enough with those, but he lacked any idea of what sentiment to express.

"It's okay, Grissom. I know. You just don't know what to say, do you?"

"No, Greg, I don't. I'm sorry." He looked at me hard, his eyes sad. "I really am. For everything."

I looked at him for a long time. "Not your fault, Griss," I said quietly. "Not your fault."

"I spoke with your grandfather. We've found a spot for him at Autumn Manor. As soon as we can make arrangements for the transfer he'll be coming to Vegas to be with you. He'll be settling in by the time you're released."

"What..."

"It was his idea, Greg. I just made arrangements - though I must say I'm looking forward to actually meeting this Grandpa Olaf I've heard so much about."

"He's a character."

He smiled slightly. "Must run in the family." He glanced over his shoulder. "Greg, I'm going to step out and let Nick have a turn."

"Okay."

"Hey, little buddy. How ya holding up?"

I shrugged and looked down toward the foot of the bed. "See for yourself."

He never glanced down, just looked at my face and grabbed my hand. "You're going to get through this."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He squeezed my hand. "You're not going through this alone. I got you, man, and I'm not letting go. "

"I don't think I can do this."

"You can, and you will. You got people depending on you, Greg. You have to."

The nurse swished in and pushed a clear liquid into my IV line. "Morphine. For the pain."

My eyelids were suddenly heavy, and the next thing I knew Nick had turned into Sara. She was holding my hand in hers, her fingers stroking softly over the top of my hand. "Hey," she whispered gently. "I've been waiting for you to wake up." 


	3. Chapter 3

It was good I was full of drugs, because if I hadn't been I would've cried. I searched her face for the pity I knew had to be filling her heart, but I only saw worry and warm concern and maybe more than a little guilt. "The morphine makes me sleepy," I slurred stupidly, lacking anything bettter to say. "Takes care of the pain, though."

"They're going to take out the chest tube tomorrow or the next day, then you'll go to a room."

"Then to rehab." I sighed. "Not looking forward to that."

"Doc Robbins said that with the kind of injury you have a prosthetic will let you do almost anything you want."

Everything except be a whole man again, I thought bitterly. "Great," I said flatly. "Glad to hear it."

"You can probably go back to being a CSI once you finish physical therapy - though it'll take a while." She sighed. "Wendy's going to days. That'll leave the night DNA spot open for you if you want it. Just until, you know, until you finish the PT."

"We'll see. Not sure how long it'll take to get me back on my feet... my foot."

"However long it takes, we're all with you... I'm with you."

I had a lot of morphine in me. "You are, are you?" I squeezed her hand. "What does Grissom think about that?"

She didn't answer, just stood there holding my hand until the blessed morphine fog claimed me again. When I awoke again I was alone. Story of my life.

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When he came in I was up sitting in a chair with what was left of my leg raised on pillows before me.

"So they finally pulled the chest tubes and sprung you from the unit. They'll get the prosthetist in to fit you in a few more days, and then they'll have you up and starting to get used to your temporary within a week, maybe ten days."

"Doctor Robbins! Hi!"

He smiled and plopped into a chair across from me. He gestured toward my leg. "They left you a good-sized stump to work with. You're going to be fine. You'll be walking around before you know it." He leaned forward. "How's the pain?"

I shrugged. "Getting better. Still hurts."

"Mmmm. Once you're in PT, take your pain medicine about a half-hour before each session. That will make the whole process easier."

"Okay. I'll try to remember that."

"So we've talked about your leg." He leaned forward. "How are YOU doing?"

"Okay."

"You're talking to a man who's been through this himself. You aren't okay. You will be, but you aren't yet."

He pinned me with that intense blue gaze, and I squirmed. The man did not let up. Finally I shrugged. "I'm having a hard time with it," I said quietly. "Who wouldn't?"

"Indeed. I was in medical school when I lost my legs. I was 25 - younger than you. We were out on spring break, driving home to visit my parents. I fell asleep at the wheel and ran into a tree. I lost both legs above the knee, almost died. When I first woke up I wished I had." He sighed. "I thought I'd never walk again, never be a doctor, never have a girl marry me. I met Susan two years later. We have four kids and three grandkids. Next anniversary will be our thirtieth." He smiled. "This hasn't closed as many doors as you think it has, Greg Sanders. What you get back will be the direct result of your own attitude. One thing you've never lacked is determination. Hold on to that. "

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Four and a half weeks later I was in rehab trying like hell to walk on a strange metal peg. It hurt, more than I ever would have believed it hurt. "Oh, fuck," I said under my breath as I took my first step, my good hand gripping the bar as if squeezing it could somehow dull the pain.

"I know it hurts." My physical therapist, a giant of a man named Lamarr, held firmly to my waist belt as I took another tentative step. "Remember it's getting a little better each time, but for now if cussing makes it feel better, then cuss. Go for it. I hear it every day."

"Motherfucking. Son of a bitch. Hurts."

"Halfway there. You're doing so well. You're a champ!"

Lamarr let go of the belt, and I collapsed into the wheelchair at the end of the bars. "Lamarr."

"Yeah?"

"I look like a pirate with this damned peg leg, don't I? Maybe I should get a new, bad boy look to go with it, maybe get my ear pierced." I pulled at my left earlobe. "What do you think?"

He gave me a speculative glance. "With that shaggy-ass hair, I can actually see it."

I grinned. I'd been two weeks overdue for a haircut when I got hurt, and I hadn't bothered to shave since I'd arrived at rehab three weeks before. I wouldn't call the bristly stubble covering my face a beard, not yet at least, but it was definitely well on its way to becoming one. "I think I will." I paused. "This is Vegas. There's got to be at least one piercer who goes to the client."

Two days later I idly fingered the thick titanium hoop hanging from my left earlobe. I might not have chosen this path, but I was going to walk it on my own terms, peg leg and all. 


	4. Chapter 4

Another chapter for you.

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I was eating dinner at KFC with Nick when it hit me.

"Crap. My car is stick shift."

"Always liked a stick myself." Nick gnawed idly on the leg of fried chicken he'd been working on. From his smile I could see he thought I was just being conversational.

"No, Nick, you don't understand. My car is a stick shift. It has a clutch. You mash the clutch with your left foot."

"Oh. Sorry, I forgot for a minute. Yes, that's, um, that's as issue."

"I'm getting out next week. I'm going to need another car, an automatic."

"I'll take you. We can go look today if you want. We can swing by your place and switch to your car."

I grinned. Nick had been a true and faithful friend throughout my rehab ordeal. He'd visited every other day. At least once a week he'd taken me to supper, then to visit my grandfather at Autumn Manor. Papa Olaf really liked him. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

"Not a problem. After we're done I'm taking you for a shave and a haircut. You're starting to look like Grizzly Adams."

He mentioned my hair every tiime I saw him. "No, I think I'll leave it long. Thank you, though."

He snorted. "Greg, you at least need a haircut. You have a ponytail."

"I do have a ponytail, and I like it. I like it a lot."

"You look like you're on your way to a Hell's Angels convention." He took a swig of his tea. "So what kind of car you gonna get?"

"A used one, something fairly small. I like VW's a lot."

"You're on leave for what, another month, month and a half?"

I nodded. "Then it's back to DNA. Maybe for six months, maybe indefinitely. Depends on how well I'm getting around once they give me my permanant prosthesis. "

"It's going to be great to have you back, even if you're not back to the field yet."

"Gonna be weird being back in DNA, though. "

"At least you'll be back there with us, where you belong. The place isn't the same without you."

"Yeah, well, if it turns out I can't go back to being a CSI I might have to consider getting into another line of work."

"But you're good at DNA."

"I am. Unfortunately I outgrew it and now it just bores the living hell out of me. I can't see doing it for the rest of my life."

"So what would you do?"

I smiled. "Finish my doctorate, take more classes, go into DNA research. Several of the labs back East have put out feelers over the years; at the time I wasn't interested but now... We'll just have to see."

Four hours later, I was signing the paperwork for my new car - well, new to me. It was actually a year older than the Jetta I'd traded for it, but it was automatic, and it was red, and it was a Beetle convertible. I loved it already. "I'll drive us back to the apartment. We can put the top down."

"Sounds good. Sweet car."

"That she is." I fingered my car keys, then slipped in behind the wheel. Yes, things were definitely looking up.

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"So, Wild Man Sanders is going home." Lamarr looked up from my chart and grinned. "Though I'll still be seeing more of you than you like for a while yet. Remember, four-thirty every day you come here for PT."

"Yes, can't forget my daily pain and torture."

"You know you love it."

"I might if you looked like Liv Tyler, but you don't."

He chuckled. "Just keep showing up until we tell you to stay home, and before you know it you'll be trading your pirate leg for a nice, state of the art permanant one."

"Promises, promises."

"Greggo!" A grinning Nick appeared in the doorway. "Ready to go?"

"More than ready."

Lamarr grinned. "I know you are. Have a good weekend, man, but don't overdo it."

"I'll try to behave. See you Monday." I turned to Nick. "I'm packed and ready."

"Then let's head out before they change their minds on us."


	5. Chapter 5

I settled back into my apartment more easily than I'd expected. I was now grateful that I'd had to settle for a downstairs unit. Though I could climb stairs when I needed to, doing so was awkward and painful. I had to do it in rehab, but I had no desire to face steps every time I wanted to leave my home. I was in enough pain as it was, and the pain medicine they gave me got weaker with every prescription. 

Weeks passed. Most mornings I visited Papa Olaf, and three times a week I had rehab in the afternoon. Friends visited every couple of days, so I didn't have much of a chance to get lonely. They must have had a schedule, because they never came together. They'd appear in the evening - Nick, Catherine, Sara, Warrick and Grissom, Jaquie and Archie, Doc Robbins and Dave Phillips - even David Hodges, though after the first week he insisted that I come to him. "It's your turn. Get off your lazy ass and get in the car," he'd snarled. "You know where I live." At his house we'd have dinner, play chess, Monopoly, or Clue, and we'd snipe at each other throughout the game. He gave me no quarter, was just as nasty and sarcatic as ever, but something had shifted between us, and I realized with surprise that my perceived enemy was actually a friend.

Sara's first visit alone was awkward. Once I'd left the hospital for rehab she'd always come with one of the others, usually with Nick or Catherine. She never came with Grissom, though, I guess because she didn't want to rub my nose in the fact that they were a couple. The evening she came alone she made a point of keeping things light, and I went along. She'd made a choice, after all, and I had to respect it no matter how unhappy it made me. Besides, I hadn't had any luck getting her attention when I was able-bodied; to try now would just be inviting rejection, and I didn't think I had the strength to bounce back from that at this point.

I finally got my permanant prosthetic, and in jeans I actually looked like my old two-legged self. Naked was another story, but as I looked in the mirror I actually felt hope that one day I might connect with someone who could deal with my physical changes. Other guys in my situation had managed to find someone to love, so it was entirely possible I might as well.

In another week rehab would dwindle to twice a week, and I was supposed to go back to work in eighteen days. Slowly but surely, I was reclaiming my shattered life. I was still in a lot of pain, but since I'd started having acupuncture even that was steadily improving. Papa Olaf said I was passing through one of life's dark valleys, that when I stepped out into the warm sunlight on the other side I would be a stronger, better man than I had been before my ordeal began. He told me I hadn't LOST my leg, just traded it for intangible spiritual and emotional things. I would told anyone else that I wanted to undo that deal immediately, that it was undoubtably the worst ass-fuck of a trade I'd ever heard of. I would tell them to stop mouthing empty platitudes until they spent a week strapping on a body part and buying Advil by the case, but Papa Olaf loved me, and he was a wise man, so I considered what he said.

I started back on a Monday night. I had finally broken down and shaved off the beard, but I liked the long hair, so I tied it back in a pony tail and donned jeans and a T-shirt. One advantage of working DNA was that no one particularly cared how I looked. Another was the fact that my salary would double from what it had been as a CSI.

"Cool cane, man! Where'd you get it?" Nick was grinning as he watched me set up my DNA lab.

"Got it on eBay. I'm going to be needing one for a while, so I figured I could at least have something with style."

"Well, it's definitely that. It's good to have you back."

"Good to be back. Hello, Warrick."

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Can't complain. Ah, I see you've brought me something."

"Vaginal swab from a rape vic in Henderson. Brad from swing handed it to me, asked me to bring it to you."

And so it went. Everyone from Ecklie to Archie stopped by to speak to me. Between our shift's cases and swing shift's hefty backlog I had little time to feel depressed over being stuck in the lab, so it really wasn't so bad. Little did I know things were about to get a little more complicated.

I was in the locker room at the end of shift when Nick came in and sat down beside me. "So how was your first night back?"

"Busy. The tech on swing shift is a complete slacker, so I had to deal with half of his work as well as my own. Fortunately for me, I'm so fast that wasn't a problem."

"Well, good. Listen, I just found out something I thought you'd want to know." He looked toward the doorway and dropped his voice. "Grissom and Sara aren't together any more."

I frowned. "Are you sure? How did you find this out?"

"Catherine overheard them talking. Sara told him she couldn't be in a relationship with a man who loved his roaches more than he loved her, to which he replied that she knew what kind of man he was when they got involved. It went downhill from there and from what Cath said they got pretty loud, and I do mean both of them. It ended with Sara leaving with Warrick to go to that murder in Seven Hills. Grissom's been seething ever since. I've been avoiding him as much as possible."

"Wow. Didn't see that coming. They were together, what, all of four months?"

"Something like that. You know Grissom, though - for all his scientific brilliance, he sucks at dealing with other people."

"Yeah, he's great at figuring out what's going on in your mind, but when it comes to feelings he's lost."

Nick shook his head. "All I know is that Sara dumped him. I thought you'd want to know." He stood and walked over to his locker. "You should give her a call when you get home."

I didn't say anything, just grabbed my keys and slipped out of the building. It had been an eventful night.


	6. Chapter 6

Another update, fairly short this time. It might be a while until the next one.

Weeks passed. Physical therapy was progressing, but I wasn't improving as quickly as I'd hoped. "This is where you learn patience. You never had to when you were young. Now you gotta learn what it's like to have to push, to put everything you got into it just to get what everybody else got without even trying," said Papa Olaf in response when I informed him of my feelings. "This never happened to you before. You're smart. All was easy in school, graduating two years early with honors, then going to Stanford, getting that Summa Laude whatever it was - you worked for it, but not too hard, not like the not-so-smart kids. Now is different, now you learn what is like to be a slow kid - not slow in the head, but in the body. "

I sighed. "It's been five months, though. This is taking longer than I thought it would. I run like a baby giraffe, and if the ground's uneven I still need a cane."

Papa Olaf snorted at this. "When you were a baby you had the same problem, only without the cane - then you just fell on your ass. Back then you had enough guts to pull yourself back up and try again. I hope you still got that. You're in trouble if you don't." He yawned then. "I'm tired, Gregor. Go do what you do on your day off and leave an old man to his rest."

"Okay, Papa. I'll see you tomorrow then. Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

I considered taking in a movie, decided against it, then went for groceries and hit the McDonald's drive through on my way home. This was, after all, the content of my days off any more - visit Papa Olaf, stop by the store if I needed to, rehab in the afternoon if it happened to be a Monday or a Thursday. It was Tuesday, so I turned on the television and fixed myself a double rum and coke to go with my Big Mac.

Three hours and two drinks later I was sleeping through Judge Judy when the phone rang. "Hello."

"Greg." Slight hesitation in the familiar voice. "This is Jenna." Long pause. "Remember me?"

Oh, did I EVER remember her - Jenna, my ex-girlfriend from seven years ago before, the first girl I'd dated after getting to Vegas. She was my first for a lot of things. We'd dated for two years before she'd dumped me and moved away. It had come without warning, and she'd been matter-of -fact and boredly unconcerned about the whole thing. Yeah, I remembered, alright - Jenna, the only girl I'd ever bought an engagement ring for. Fortunately I hadn't given it to her yet when she skipped town. I still had the thing, an expensive trinket to remind me of just how bad my judgement could be. "Jenna. Um, hi! It's been a while."

Her voice was nervous. "I'm glad I caught you home. I was afraid I wouldn't." Another long pause. "Listen, I just wanted you to know, I'm moving back to Vegas. I was wondering if..." She trailed off, obviously hoping I'd take the hint and grab the conversational reins. Not a chance in Hell, sweetie.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to see you again. Maybe I could take you to dinner tonight... if you don't already have plans."

I was silent for longer than was polite. SIx months before I would've told her no, that I already had plans, then gone to a bar and tried to find a stranger to make me feel better, but things had changed. My value on the meat market wasn't what it used to be, and the little pride I had left wouldn't let me tell her no, then spend the evening alone. "Okay," I heard my mouth say. "Pick me up at six, then. You need my address."

"No, I have it. It's in the phone book. And Greg? I've missed you."

I didn't reply, just waited for the click of her hanging up before turning the phone off.

By six I was starting to panic. I was seriously considering going for a ride and telling her I'd been called in, but she knew where I worked. I dutifully showered and dressed, even threw on a bit of aftershave, then sat on the sofa to wait for my date to arrive.

She was early, and as usual her she was dressed to the teeth. "Jenna. Come in."

She cast a glance around my apartment, taking in the thrown-together conglomeration of furniture and belongings that made a powerful decorating statement. It said (and said loudly), "I am a poor, poor man who cannot afford a matched living room set, a sofa that does not need to have a quilt thrown over it to avoid frightening people, or an entertainment center crafted without the use of cinder blocks." It was pretty much the same stuff I'd had back when we were dating, only back then I'd had the excuse of youth to fall back on. She gave me a long look and sighed. "I thought we could go to Gino's, if that's okay with you."

I swallowed hard. Gino's had been OUR restaurant, the place we'd gone on our first date. I hadn't been there since we'd split. "Sure," I said softly. "That'd be good."

We took my car, my idea because the parking lot of Gino's was just a ragged gravel lot, and my spare cane was already nestled behind the seat. Since she loved Gino's house wine she was more than amenable to the suggestion. She gave me a strange look when I pulled out the cane and made my careful way to the front door.

"Did you hurt your leg?"

"Something like that. No big deal." I forced a smile and held the door open for her. "Ladies first."

"Ever the gentleman still, aren't you?"

I shrugged. "I have my moments."

Gino's lasagna was still the best around, but the air between us was tight with tension. "So how is your life these days?" I asked quietly after pushing my plate to the side. "You moved to Chicago, didn't you?"

She nodded. "Yes. The job there didn't work out. I got married to one of the attorneys from a rival firm, moved to Boston, got divorced, moved to LA." She shrugged. "It wasn't all that. I remembered how much fun Vegas used to be, so here I am. Again."

"Yeah. Here you are again."

"How about you? What's going on with you?"

I smiled. "Still working for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I changed apartments and got a new car. " I shrugged. "It's been seven years. I've changed in a lot of ways, grown up."

"Yeah. You seem a lot more serious these days. You don't drink?"

"Not when I'm the designated driver. Not that much when I'm not."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

I hesitated. The truth was that I hadn't been out on a date in eight months, but I was damned well not going to tell her that. "I date. Nobody in particular."

"I almost didn't call you."

"Mmmm. I'm curious, Jenna - why DID you call me? I got the distinct impression when we parted ways that you considered yourself above dating a guy like me - now out of the blue you call wanting to take me out to dinner. What's really up, Jen?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to know how you were. Now I know."

No, Jen, actually you don't know. You don't have a fucking clue. "Yes. Now you know. Satisfied?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I was hoping... We were good together in the beginning." She sighed. "I was hoping we could give it another try."

"I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm still not rich, still no jock, still no Playgirl centerfold. I still drive a VW, still have coffee and cupcakes for breakfast, still would rather be in a line of work that makes me feel like I'm making a difference than be a rich VP with no ethics. I'll never have a Lamborghini and mansion on the beach. I can't be your dream guy, Jen. I don't even want to try any more."

"Those things don't matter to me any more."

I shook my head. "Jen, you told me you were 'tired of settling.' Your own words, not mine. If we were to try to be together again, I would always feel like some sort of defective consolation prize you were keeping around until something better came along. I'm not willing to deal with how that would feel."

"I wish you would give this a chance."

"I can't."

"One chance. Let me stay with you tonight. If it still feels right, we take it from there."

I cleared my throat. "You don't want that."

"I do." She put her hand over mine.

"No, Jen, you don't. I've changed in ways you cannot imagine." I licked my lips. Her fingers were caressing mine, the motions almost pornographic. I was going to have to tell her the truth - otherwise she'd be finding out nonverbally. "Look, about five months ago I was attacked by two armed suspects. They beat me with a tire iron, then ran over me with a car. I ended up with a little more than a hurt leg. I'm an amputee now, Jenna,." Her hand abruptly stopped moving. A look of shock passed over her face. " I can see by the look on your face that you now understand why it wouldn't be a good idea for us to have that sleepover."

"I'm so sorry, Greg. I had no idea."

"I'm sure you didn't. You wouldn't have called if you did. Look, I don't want or need your pity. I just knew that this-" I gestured down to my prosthetic leg "-would be a deal-breaker for you, and I wanted to stop your wandering hands before I was ready to show rather than just tell."

She had no answer for that - no sweet denials of what I'd said, no assurances that she still wanted me, just cold, embarassed silence and an unwillingness to look directly at me. The ride home was just as quiet. She turned to me as she opened the door to her car. "I'll call you," she said quietly.

"No, you won't. Take care, Jen. Have a good life." I turned away from her and walked slowly to my apartment. My shame was now complete. 


	7. Chapter 7

Here's another chappie. I gots a problem I'm hoping someone can help me with. FF is refusing to let me leave reviews, just beeps when I try. This has been going on for close to two weeks now, and I'm getting really annoyed. If this has happened to you, please write and let me know how you fixed it! I'm Thank you!

The next night at work I moped silently as I processed my DNA samples. No one but Nick commented on my attitude, but as usual, he managed to ferret out what was bothering me. "You're mighty quiet for a guy who just had a day off. What's up?"

I shrugged. "Nothing. Just in a quiet mood, I guess."

"Greg, you don't have quiet moods. What's wrong?"

"Nothing major. Just got a phone call from someone I could've gone the rest of my life without hearing from."

"Who was it?" Nick sat on the edge of my work table. Experience told me his butt was going nowhere until he discovered, discussed, and helped me deal with whatever was bothering me - whether I wanted him to or not. I would never admit it to him, but NickTherapy actually did help, at least most of the time.

"Jenna?"

"Jenna! You gotta be kidding! It's been what, seven or eight years?"

"Something like that."

"And she just called you up out of the blue?"

"Yup. Said she was in the process of moving back to Vegas."

He snorted. "You're not still in love with her, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Was once, but she killed that a long time ago. I've been over her for a while."

"So what did she say?"

"She wanted to take me to dinner."

"You didn't go. Greg! You went!" He shook his head. "Why? You said you were over her."

I shrugged. "I was. I mean I am. Hell, Nick, I don't know. I was sitting home alone, and she called and asked, and I guess... something in me wanted to be wanted again. I haven't even been out on a date in eight months. Eight months is a long time, Nick. And since the attack, since the attack I've had a really hard time... It's hard to feel attractive when you have a stump where your leg used to be."

Nick patted me on the shoulder. "It's all in your head. You just have to get out there, meet the right kind of girl."

I snorted. "And when was YOUR last date? They're all over you like vultures on road splat, but you sit home almost as much as I do."

"Neither here nor there. So what happened last night?

"She took me to Gino's, wanted to try 'us' again. Obviously I balked. Before the accident, I would've fucked her senseless even though 'us' decomposed to dust a long time ago. After what she did, I would've seen it as I chance to get a little closure, some sex and an exit on my terms rather than hers. But that was then. Last night I kept putting her off, pushing her away, until she got physical."

"In the restaurant? She got physical in the restaurant?"

I snickered. "No, Nick, not like that - no unzipping my pants and crawling under the table. More subtle. At any rate, I finally realized the only way I was going to get her off me was to tell her the truth. To be honest with you, I guess a tiny, stupid part of me hoped that it wouldn't make a difference."

"With Jenna? Greg, she's so shallow she threatened to stop sleeping with you unless you got your chest waxed. She wouldn't kiss you when you had a pimple."

"Yeah, well, obviously it didn't go well. You should've seen the look on her face. After I got home I couldn't go to sleep. I kept thinking, 'Get used to it. This is your love life from here on out.'"

Nick shook his head. "No, man, it isn't like that. There are plenty of women who wouldn't even find that to be an issue."

"So you keep telling me. Unfortunately I haven't met any so far."

"You will, Greg. Trust me, you will."


	8. Chapter 8

This update is long-overdue, for which I apologize. I WILL finish this. Maybe two or three chapters to go.

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The next morning I sat on my ratty sofa, my head in my hands. The darkened apartment felt more like a tomb than a home at that moment, and I didn't even try to stop the burning tears from escaping my eyes. I had been doing pretty well until the Jenna farce, back at work, getting back my confidence, and getting around well, but now I was back to that horrible feeling that no one anywhere would ever want me. I knew I never wanted to have to repeat that horrible "breaking the news" scene with another woman. I would never forget the look of abject horror on Jenna's face. I didn't think I could handle that brand of humiliation again.

A soft thump at the door shook me from my self-pity. "It's open," I said loudly, then swiped my sleeve across my damp face.

Sara, dressed in jeans and a tight, grape-colored sweater, slipped into the apartment and set a bag on the counter. Her smile was forced. "Hope I didn't wake you up," she said as she emptied the bag.

"Um, no, I couldn't sleep."

"Me either. I, um, I brought breakfast." She handed me a paper-wrapped sandwich. "Bacon and cheese biscuit. I think you like them."

"You know I do." I studied her carefully. She smiled nervously and handed me a styrofoam cup of coffee. "What's up, Sara? You seem upset."

She shook her head and sat next to me. She was silent for a few moments. "I just didn't need to be alone," she said softly. "I needed a good friend, and you're the best."

I slid closer to her. "Talking about it might help."

"Bad shift. Too many parallels to something I've worked hard to forget." She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. "This one was too close."

I didn't reply , just put my hand over hers and waited for her to continue. "Long-term repeat domestic abuse case finally turned tragic. This man had been abusing his wife for twelve years. He'd broken her jaw twice, arms and ribs and even a skull fracture. She was thirty-four, and her face was a roadmap of scars." She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked away. "This time she'd evidently had enough, because she met his first punch with a butcher's knife she'd hidden behind the toilet. She, um, she got in a couple of good gashes before he grabbed the knife from her and slit her throat, then he sat down in the floor next to her and bled out. Her head was almost severed, Greg, and their daughter, their eight-year-old girl saw everything." Sara looked at me, tears running down her face. "I was eleven, I was upstairs when it happened, and my mother killed him before he could kill her. Aside from that, it was my story all over again."

I pulled her into my arms then, let her hot tears soak into my shirt. "That was a terrible thing to go through," I said after a few minutes of silence. "But you've overcome that, and gone on to become the most wonderful woman I know."

"I'm not wonderful, Greg. Look at me. I broke down at a crime scene. I left Catherine and Grissom to process and had to go sit in the Denali for ten minutes before I could do the job."

I tilted her chin up to look at me. "But you got it done, didn't you? Not many people could have."

She grimaced. "Eventually. You... you should have seen the look on Grissom's face when he found me in the Denali. I was in tears. He, um, I could tell he was disappointed."

"Does he know?"

She nodded.

"Then he should admire you for pulling yourself together and going back to that nightmare and doing what you had to do. I couldn't have done it."

"He wouldn't have had to step away."

I took a deep breath. "Grissom is not a normal man, Sara. His emotions are so suppressed I don't think even he knows what he's feeling anymore. Be thankful you AREN'T like him. I may have lost a leg, but his deficits are a lot more handicapping than even mine. I wouldn't trade him, not for anything."

"It would be a poor trade," she agreed quietly.

"I'm sorry about, you know, how things turned out with you two."

"Probably inevitable."

I smiled sadly. "Yeah. His loss," I said, then looked away. "He was the luckiest man alive for a while there, but he blew it."

"Flatterer. But thank you for that."

My voice fell to a near-whisper. "If you gave me the chance you gave him, I wouldn't mess it up. Just letting you know that."

Surprise filled her expression, then a slow smile. "I'll keep that in mind," she said softly.

"You do that," I answered, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "You do that."


	9. Chapter 9

Last chapter, and it's a bit Sandlish.

"So what exactly will the physical aptitude test consist of?" I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms.

Grissom leaned forward, glasses perched on his nose, and read from the yellow for in front of him. "You will have to go up, then down three flights of stairs. You will have to run one-half mile. You will have to climb a ten-foot vertical ladder, both up and down. You will have to walk two miles across rough terrain carrying a fifty-pound backpack. You will have to swim three laps."

"Do I have to do all of this on the same day?"

He chuckled. "No, Greg, you'll do each section on a different day."

"Am I allowed a cane or a walking stick?"

"As needed. Doc Robbins made sure of that."

"Then I'm ready."

He frowned. "Are you sure? There's no rush."

"It's been six months, Grissom. I wouldn't call that being in a rush." I smiled. "I'm sure. I can do it."

"I'll talk to Ecklie, then, get you scheduled for next week. One test per day." He took off his glasses and slowly folded them. "Greg, there is one other thing."

I sighed. "What?"

"Ecklie. Ah, Ecklie wants you to start carrying a gun."

I shook my head. "No."

He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Brass will show you how to use it. You'll go at your own pace, but you'll need to be certified within a year of returning to duty."

"I said no, Grissom. I hate guns. There are too many of them out there as it is, and I'm really not sure I could shoot someone."

"Greg, I wasn't asking. Since your, your incident, the department has ruled that all CSI's must be certified and carry firearms. You aren't the only one impacted by this. Sara isn't very happy about this either."

I sighed again. "Alright. I'll do it. I'llcarry a gun."

He smiled. "Very well, then. I will be looking forward to having you back in the field."

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"You can do it. You've done better than all these in PT, and you know it." Lamarr grinned over at me. "You almost got your life back, man. I'm proud of you."

"I still run like a newborn giraffe."

"You can run, and that's what counts. Don't sweat how you look doing it."

"Yeah, man. You've always danced like an idiot, but you never let THAT slow you down."

"Shut up, Nick."

"You've come a long way in six months." Lamarr patted my shoulder. "We'll work on your running, but right now remember just how far you've come. I remember your first day with the prosthetic you swore like a drunken sailor as you took, what, six steps between the bars. Now you run, you do stairs, and you can climb a ladder. We have a ways to go before you're where you want to be, but you've done the hard part. Now comes the payoff."

Brass and Ecklie met me at the courthouse for my first test. Nick had insisted on coming along for moral support, so the three of them walked me to one of the stairwells and watched me make my way slowly up and down. "Very good, Greg," said Grissom as I made my way down the last set of steps. "I think we can count this section as completed, don't you, Conrad?"

Ecklie smiled, the first sincere smile I'd ever seen cross his features. "I do. You're one step closer to the field, Sanders. Tomorrow you'll do the three-mile walk."

The three-mile walk went smoothly, as well as the half-mile run and the swimming test. The ladder test was what I'd been dreading, and on Friday morning I met Grissom and Ecklie in the department gym to face my personal dragon. "You're sure you can do this?" Grissom looked at me, then at the ladder, then back at me. His expression was doubtful.

"Yeah." I grabbed the sides of the ladder with my hands and placed my right foot on the botton rung. I'd been doing weights to build arm strength, and now I was going to be using it. It was slow, painful going, but when my foot hit the mat coming down I knew I had my job back. Nick's loud whoop let pretty much everyone in the vicinity know as well.

"Very good, Sanders. You're once again a CSI. Take your weekend off, then report for night shift at ten on Tuesday."

"Welcome back, Greg." Grissom's voice was warm.

"Thank you."

"I knew you could do it, man." Nick grinned at Grissom as he spoke. "Your days of goofing off in DNA are over, Greggo. You're back to being one of us."

Later, as I celebrated with the others at the diner, I felt as if I'd taken one very big step in the direction of normal. Sara sat next to me, Nick on the other side, Catherine and Warrick across from us. In the booth behind us sat Grissom, Dr. Robbins, Jim Brass, and Sophia. We ordered our usual greasy diner chow and ate it among much detailed discussion of ongoing cases. At the end of the meal the group slipped out one by one, eventually leaving just Sara and myself. "I'm looking forward to Tuesday," she said as she watched Nick start his truck. "It hasn't been the same without you."

"You've seen me every night in DNA."

"Not the same, and you know it."

"Yeah. It'll be good to be back in my place."

She smiled almost shyly and dropped her voice. "Look, um, I noticed you're off until Tuesday. I'm off tonight also, and I was wondering if you might like to go to dinner with me."

I grinned. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

Guess Doc Robbins had been right - less doors HAD closed than I'd originally thought. As I made my way home I decided that life might still be wonderful after all.

the end


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